


Throw My Spidery Ass into a Fire Mister Edwards

by enigmaticNeurologist



Category: 17th Century CE RPF
Genre: Burnplay, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Dom/sub, Limb splicing, Other, Rope Bondage, inside joke gone out of hand?, okay time for real tags., this is fucked up, yikes im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:59:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12208011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticNeurologist/pseuds/enigmaticNeurologist
Summary: I wanna be dangled over a fire, like a spider that you utterly despise. Hold me up there daddy, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.





	Throw My Spidery Ass into a Fire Mister Edwards

**Author's Note:**

> This is a complete joke, thanks to a combo of friends, dramatic readings, and the crushing force of AP US history. The actual guy this is about, Jonathan Edwards, started a huge "emotional" religious movement, the Great Awakening, in the British colonies pre-revolution, and he was very enthusiastic about damning people. Here's a chunk of one of his most famous sermons, [Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God](https://www.blueletterbible.org/comm/edwards_jonathan/sermons/sinners.cfm), and where some of this stuff is drawn from. 
> 
> End me.

You look up, seeing the coarse powdered wig framing the gaunt, holy face leaning above you. A snarl crosses his righteous lips, and your eyes track every movement of it languishing in his divine beauty. A fireplace roars behind you, but the ropes wrapped tightly around your arms, and the one pressing harshly into your groin, prevent your from turning to look at it. You shift, not entirely uncomfortably, each movement of your hips sending sparks similar to those of the heated fire behind you. Your eyes flutter shut, and are subsequently pried open by hands that have seen more of the bible than anyone's ever has, and more of you than anyone ever will. 

"Do not dare to look away from me," he intones, his voice shaking you to the core, "I blaze brightly, with the Lord's righteous fury, upon your sinful existence," spit flies from his perfect lips onto your cheek, and you let out a soft, undisguised moan. 

"Cease this," he brings a hand swiftly across your face, the spike of pain followed immediately by an icy heat spreading from the point where he touched you. 

"Don't stop, punish me," you whisper, "I've done wrong Father."

"Father?" Jonathan Edwards punctuates his question with another slap, this time lower, and a shrill shriek escapes your lips. As he pulls away, he purposefully tugs on the rope between your legs and you cry out, not unpleasantly. "Don't call me Father, call me Daddy." 

Heat floods you, and he reaches to an area near the fireplace hidden in shadow, retrieving a wooden handle with its sharp tip hidden in an intricate sheath. 

"You aren't the first one, the first spider I've dropped. We're all just dangling," at this he reaches down again to that lower rope, and this time he doesn't let go, just shifts it back and forth, back and forth. "We're ready to drop, fall down, deep down. Our only anchor is God, and today I am his vessel, my hand holding you, dangling you, over hell. I decide here."

The rope's rough texture catches along your clothing, and Edwards notices your distress. With a few well-placed cuts of his knife, your lower half is freed. Your heated skin arches into the brush of the blade, its soothing touch followed by a harsh caress, or maybe a slap, of Edwards's beautiful hands. They skitter along the inside of your thighs, which shake as his fingers continue their passage north. Upon reaching their destination, he spits on his hand and begins pressing his hand onto (insert genitalia of choice here). A deep moan is tugged from your throat, and you buck your hips up into his touch, "Daddy, please. Throw me into the fire, this is the only thing that brings me joy, and it is my right to receive retribution for my sinful actions." 

"Good, you do not hold fear at the prospect of facing my wrath," Edwards's free hand wraps back around the handle of the knife he extracted from the darkness. "I see you as a spider, and a spider you shall be." 

And then he literally splits each of your limbs down the fucking middle. You scream, of course, and then come 20 times because damn it was hot, thanks daddy. The influential historical figure then reaches down a lanky arm and hauls your dumb gender neutral ass up off the chair and into the fire where you belong, you fucking sinner. 

 _"The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much as one holds a spider, or some loathsome insect over the fire, abhors you, and is dreadfully provoked: his wrath towards you burns like fire; he looks upon you as worthy of nothing else, but to be cast into the fire; he is of purer eyes than to bear to have you in his sight; you are ten thousand times more abominable in his eyes, than the most hateful venomous serpent is in ours."_ \--Jonathan Edwards, the Preacher Daddy. 

++++++

this may become a continuing work, added to as school beats me over the head with a fucking hammer. enjoy

 


End file.
